


Those That Fell

by persistent_pedantry



Series: Enemy is Missing Enemy is Missing Enemy is Missing Enemy i [1]
Category: League of Legends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:14:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27233320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/persistent_pedantry/pseuds/persistent_pedantry
Summary: After watching the RISE cinematic, I found the concept of players using the weapons of their mains is pretty cool, so I decided to write a little something for it. I've got a couple of neat ideas for it, so maybe I'll write more someday.
Series: Enemy is Missing Enemy is Missing Enemy is Missing Enemy i [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1988323
Comments: 3
Kudos: 2





	Those That Fell

The ground is hard beneath the mountain. It takes a hardy soul to withstand the harsh sun, and hardier still to climb towards it.

The dry earth yields to his shovel, a worn boot driving it further as another hole is dug. Undying warriors, Grand Generals, wagers of war with no care for the banners left to fade in the light, nor the bodies to rot in the heat. Many who go up never come down, whether they’ve found victory or simply been erased by those who have; it’s not his place to think about all that.

New footsteps approach, furtive as their owner searches for their weapon.

The man hefts his shovel, dropping the dirt listlessly aside. He glances over to the footsteps as the shovel finds fresh ground. They’re young, barely grazing their twenties. With every weapon they see, they give a glance to the great mountain before them. Hopeful, perhaps, or one of the cautious ones. One can often tell by the weapon they choose…

The young man picks up a great broadsword, its blade barely scuffed, but the blue cloth covering the grip is stained from years of neglect. It has no counterbalance.

“That one’s no good for climbing,” the man said, resting against his shovel. His voice is weary, having long abandoned the hope for food or water.

The young man looks over, gingerly brushing the dust off the sword’s blade. “And a shovel is?”

“It’s not a weapon,” he sighs, driving his shovel back into the earth. “I am here to clean after the mistakes hopefuls like you make. Try an axe instead.”

Hefting the sword on to his shoulder, the young man approaches, smiling with patronizing assuredness. “I’ve made my way here, haven’t I? I have just as much of a chance as ev--”

“Fresh ground.”

He stops, looking down at the unsettled dirt. “As… everyone else,” he murmurs, stepping back.

The gravedigger sighs again, nodding towards an empty patch of the battlefield. It’s almost an acre wide, and just as long. Much of the ground looks disturbed. “Up on that mountain, there are many people that, were you to live a good life, you would never meet. Your hopes alone won’t be crushed, so perhaps the disappointment of turning back is a good trade.”

The young man pushes his blade into a fresh patch of earth, sitting and resting back against it. “And nobody’s ever made it up there? The top, I mean.”

After a moment’s hesitation, the gravedigger nods, pointing up to the very peak. A great storm cloud is barely visible. “It’s possible. A boy came here some few years ago. He picked up… quite a few weapons; I’m surprised he carried them all. A pack of cards, some shuriken, a book…” He trails off, tutting to himself. “He’s who everyone wants to overtake, seems.”

“I just want to get to that snowy area up there,” the young man says, idly pointing some ways below the peak, where the clouds collect. “Someone I know is up there… or, she used to be. Maybe she’s higher now.”

The gravedigger says nothing, continuing to dig.

The silence holds for a time.

As the sun reaches its peak, the young man gets up, hefting his sword back up with a grunt. “Well, uh…”

“ffat5ordodge”

“I’m not calling you that.”

“Good.”

The young man gives a brief wave, beginning his trek towards the base of the mountain--rather, the sloping approach to it. “I’ll call down to you when I hit the top. Heck, I’ll throw down any bodies I find for you too.”

“Please don’t. I have enough work as it is,” the gravedigger responds. After a moment, he reaches to the young man, raising a finger in protest. “Actually, if you could, hopeful.”

He looks back, still walking.

The gravedigger taps his foot by the hole, taking his shovel in both hands again. “The hole I dig. It is for you,” he says in a gravelly tone. Sighing with a quickly fading smile, he begins to dig again. “Don’t give me more work. It would be nice to see an empty grave for once.”

The hopeful nods, silent as he begins his ascent.

Silence rests on the battlefield again, save for the shovelling of dirt and the humming of a weary, if undeniably hopeful, gravedigger.


End file.
